


someday, somebody else besides me

by opaldawn



Series: a tight-knit family / love is blind [1]
Category: The Penumbra Podcast
Genre: Autistic Peter Nureyev, Canon Nonbinary Character, Gender Identity, Happy International Pronoun Day Yesterday, Implied Autistic Character, Mentioned But Not Explicitly Stated That Everyone On The Carte Blanche Is Also Trans, Mild emotional hurt/comfort, Nonbinary Juno Steel, Other, Peter Nureyev's Onion-like Layers, Pronoun Questioning, Semiverbal Character, Transmasculine Character, Transmasculine Peter Nureyev, Usage of the Words 'Simp' and 'Wifeguy' In Serious Context, Vignette, You're welcome Sophie Kaner, and all the BS it entails, so there's this he/they
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-22
Updated: 2020-10-22
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:00:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27152146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/opaldawn/pseuds/opaldawn
Summary: It's been very long since Nureyev's had to worry about something like this.During a stream night, a comment of Rita's dredges up questions that Nureyev doesn't know how to answer.
Relationships: Buddy Aurinko & Vespa Ilkay & Peter Nureyev & Rita & Jet Sikuliaq & Juno Steel, Peter Nureyev/Juno Steel
Series: a tight-knit family / love is blind [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1994527
Comments: 17
Kudos: 176





	someday, somebody else besides me

**Author's Note:**

> here it is! another self-indulgent penumbra fic written instead of working on college essays like a responsible person should!
> 
> this fic features a significant amount of internalized transphobia, mostly on a level of dismissal of feelings with regards to gender and pronouns as unimportant. i (the author) am transmasculine and nonbinary, and the fic is based very heavily on my own experiences with gender. it also has a non-explicit description of what could be read as an anxiety attack, and a period wherein the perspective character (peter nureyev) is nonverbal. 
> 
> as always, comments and kudos make my gd day!!

It's such a pointlessly small moment that starts it all. Nureyev's sitting on the couch with Juno, Jet, and Rita, a stream playing in the background while the louder two bicker. A character in the stream has caught Rita's eye, and she's gesturing emphatically while pontificating. 

"He's not a _simp,_ Mistah Steel, he cares about his _wife!_ Ooh, for saying something like that— why, I oughtta— I mean, have ya ever seen such powerful _demotion?_ "

"Devotion," Juno rolls his eye. 

"Same _difference_! And you ain't answered my question, boss!"

Nureyev's learned over time how to read Juno's expression. Not an easy feat, not with the brooding and emotionally sequestered detective, though he's become marginally less of those two over time. So he can tell when Juno starts reminiscing, and he realizes what he's going to say a second before he does—

"Saw somethin' like it once," he nods, trying to hold back a grin. "Old… friend… named Rose. Duke Rose."

Nureyev preens inwardly, enjoying the ego boost and the reminder of old times. Rita's eyebrows shoot up— if Nureyev's intuiting correctly, which is far easier with Rita than Juno, she's drawing all the right conclusions about the nature of Juno's relationship. Missing the forest for the trees, but who could blame her. 

" _Huh!_ " she exclaims. "That's awful nice, boss." 

And things would have been simpler if she'd just left it at that. But instead she has to go and say—

"Well, whoever this Duke fella is, it's sure nice to know that people like them still exist." 

She sighs, and makes some comment about how gals like her like a reminder once in a while that romance isn't dead, but Nureyev is hardly listening. Something about that sentence keeps replaying itself in his head. _Sure nice to know that people like them still exist._

He can't figure out what it is about it, at first. If he were bigger on metaphors, he might describe the feeling as not unlike one of those old kitschy pinball machines that they have at reenactments and themed bars, _something_ long-buried and only vaguely familiar pinging through his mind. 

It's not until he's climbing into bed next to Juno, already fast asleep, that it hits him. And he tells himself that it's silly, silly and a waste of time to be thinking about something like that when there's work to be done, when there's blueprints to study and industries to topple and debts to be paid. He tells himself, _put it in the back of the filing cabinet, Nureyev. Don't be any more of a burden on them than you already are._

-

The filing cabinet, historically, has been highly successful, has been what's allowed Nureyev to put aside wrinkles and bloody knives and one-eyed detectives and focus on what was truly necessary. But the detective in question has proven to be irritatingly good at opening the drawers and locating exactly that which Nureyev has been trying to keep buried. 

He doesn't even do it intentionally, this time. After breakfast, Nureyev chides him gently for his coffee-stained sweater. 

Juno shrugs. "Even a queen's got his bad habits." 

It's far from the first time that Juno's said something to that effect, not to mention the times that Nureyev's used a similar turn of phrase. And yet. And yet this time it dredges up what he thought he had successfully buried last night. He tries to put it out of his mind—

"Honey, you okay? If the sweater's that big a deal, I can toss it in the wash." 

Ah. The downside of dating a detective. Nureyev's usually so good at concealing his emotions, but, well, Juno must have caught him in either a tender moment or a sore spot. 

He shakes his head quickly, then reconsiders. He simply can't have something insignificant like this distracting him, and if there's anyone he can trust with something like this, well, of course it would be Juno.

“Love, do you remember...“ He trails off.

“Gotta be more specific, Ransom. S’a lot of stuff I remember, lot of stuff I don’t.”

“Do you remember when we used to— when we first got together, and we would— have the long talks about things that were bothering us?” He cringes as soon as the words are out of his mouth. Glad as he is that he’d thought of a way on the fly to phrase the question other than “we need to talk”, he still feels. Well. Uncomfortable, and guilty, and more than anything embarrassed.

As much as he realizes that he needs to accept this, he has the sudden urge to back off, to run, to tell Juno to go wash his sweater and then go hide down with Ruby for several hours. He doesn’t want to have this conversation, is what it is. Not out of a place of fear, or self-hatred, but just… Juno’s busy, he’s busy, everything’s been going well between the two of them. Juno shouldn’t have to deal with Nureyev’s little insecurities and oddnesses.

He presses his fingers together, a little motion betraying his anxiety he hopes Juno doesn’t catch. He goes to keep talking, but Juno cuts him off.

“Sure, come on.” He stands up from the chair, grabbing a bag of one of Rita’s less disgusting snacks as he goes?

“Juno, wait— where are you going?”

“Well,” he explains, patiently, like when he’s explaining to Rita how to use the microwave (or like when Rita explained to him how to connect his comms to the ship’s short-range wireless network), “I’m free now, looks like you’re free now, so let’s do it. My room or yours?”

And it’s too late to argue, now, really, so Nureyev stands as well, follows Juno wordlessly back to his room.

Once the door is closed, the detective sits down on his bed, raising his eyebrows. “So, Nureyev— don’t look at me like that, you know the moms aren’t home and Jet doesn’t come near my room when you’re here if he doesn’t have to. What’s wrong?”

“Why do you think something’s wrong?” It comes out short-tempered, clipped, but Nureyev can’t quite find it in the swirling mess of anxiety he’s become to apologize. 

“Well.” Juno holds up his hand, counting off on his fingers. “You walked down here like you were on the way to the gallows. You clammed up during the stream last night, didn’t even comment on how shittily designed the heist part was. You were tossing and turning all last night. So what is it? Did you do something? Did _I_ do something? If it’s really about the sweater, that’s rich, cuz I’ve seen your room and you—“ Juno’s getting snippy too, now, animated with just a little bite to his words. And Nureyev can’t blame him. He wishes he could just find the words to say— he wishes he could—

“You haven’t done anything wrong, Juno,” he manages to say. “And nor have I. There’s no _news_ , this isn’t— it’s nothing bad, I’m sorry for worrying you. We can talk later.” God, he’s about to start crying, isn’t he, right here on Juno’s bed. And he’ll have to tell him anyways, and Juno’ll think it’s stupid, a stupid thing to be upset about, to— to—

Juno’s arm is around his shoulders, then, and his voice is softer and so much more gentle when he says, “Hey, Peter, it’s okay. It’s okay. I’m sorry for snapping at you. I’m here for you, whatever you need to talk about.”

“I need to know how you’re so sure in who you are”, he doesn’t say. “I don’t think that certain things I’ve taken as truth about myself are true any longer”, he also doesn’t say.

“I can’t,” he says instead, and yanks hard at a lock of his hair. Juno makes a soft sound of worry, putting his hand over Nureyev’s, and he squeezes his eyes shut. Willing himself to stay composed, stay every bit the capable thief Juno’s expecting him to be, though that’s long past.

“I—” He tries again, to no avail. _Deep breaths. Juno isn’t going to get mad. Reduce all to what is necessary. Focus, Pete, focus._

He retrieves a notepad and a pencil from one of his many secret pockets and writes. He’s uncomfortably aware of Juno watching him, but soldiers on regardless.

 _Dear Juno, I am having trouble talking right now. Please_ **_don’t be worried_ ** _about what I have to say to you, it’s nothing bad._ ~~_Will you I’d love it if_~~ _It would be nice if you would stay with me for a little while, though I understand if I’m not the most scintillating company and if you would rather wait elsewhere._

He signs the message with a little heart and passes the pad to Juno, blushing to a degree he can’t remember the last time he’d reached, pointedly not watching him read. It’s dark, which is because he’s closed his eyes, he thinks. He doesn’t quite remember when, and the sound of the ship is also going oddly fuzzy, which means he has to count his breaths and name all the Venusian countries in reverse alphabetical order and focus very hard on everything being all right.

Halfway through the Ws, there’s a hand on his shoulder, and he realizes Juno’s asking him a question. Rather than admit that he hadn’t heard what the detective was asking, he nods. Even odds, he presumes.

Juno’s arms wrap around him tightly, grounding him. Good, then, he’s guessed correctly— “is it alright if I” rather than “do you mind if I”. He’s half-pulled back into a reclining position, lying on the bed on his side, pressed up against Juno. 

They stay like that for a while, not talking, just… being there. Slowly Nureyev’s mind puts itself back together, the hum of nervousness still there, but less overpowering. Juno doesn’t rush him, no “whenever you’re ready, Nureyev” or “when do you think you’ll be able to talk again?”, and it strikes him not for the first time how lucky he’s gotten.

Eventually, he decides that if he doesn’t try now, he’ll lose his nerve. He tries to think of a good way to start, perhaps an opening joke or quote from some famous philosopher, but what comes out instead is, “you’re a lady.” Well. Better than nothing, though not by much.

“Really,” Juno deadpans. “And here I thought I was supposed to be the detective. What gave it away?”

“Don’t be rude!” He grins, shakily, despite himself. “I’m simply putting everything in perspective. You’re— a lady, and I’m a man.”

“Okay,” Juno says slowly. “Perspective, huh. Is this about, you know, us? Cuz I know historically you don’t go for girls, and it doesn’t make me feel like, you know. I don’t, uh, mind? God. I’m bad at talking about this shit— this isn’t some big reveal, though, we went over this already when we got on the ship.” He makes a show of wiping his forehead. 

“That’s not it.” Breathing is easier now, too, though he’s still a little jittery. “It’s not about you, not exactly. I don’t suppose you remember what Rita said, last night?”

Juno’s brow knits in confusion. “About the wifeguy? Or— about Duke Rose?”

“Precisely.” 

“Something about hearing about him makin’ her feel like romance was still alive, wasn’t it?”

Nureyev sighs. He had hardly expected Juno to be able to figure it out, no evidence being on the table, but it’s still not an easy thing to put into words. “She said, ‘it’s sure nice to know that people like them still exist’.”

“Okay...” And then the _eureka_ moment that Nureyev has come to recognize so well. “Oh. Okay. I get it. The ‘they’, right?” A quick nod, fingers toying with the edge of Juno’s comforter.

“So, uh— good or bad?”

Nureyev laughs, sharp but not harsh, exactly. “Detective, that’s a question with no answer. But it isn’t— I haven’t been in a state the last twelve hours because your secretary misgendered an old alias of mine. What I suppose I’m trying to say is—”

“You want me to try using they for you sometimes?” And what a perfect pair they make, Juno still somehow able to reach into Nureyev’s mind and pull out everything he can’t say. Nureyev could honestly kiss him, right then. He refrains, understanding that the conversation isn’t yet over and knowing how much of a distraction it would cause, but files the idea away under _for consideration in the very near future_.

“I think I would be amenable to the idea, yes. Or, well—” he corrects himself, knowing Juno’s appreciation for concrete answers. “Yes, please. At least on a trial basis, and should it fail, we shan’t mention it again.”

“Got it. Exclusively?”

“Certainly not,” Nureyev breathes out quickly through their nose in what would, in a lighter scenario, have been a chuckle. “I’d find it terribly confusing, to make such a switch so suddenly.”

“Sure,” Juno nods. “Want to try it out now?”

It’s a compelling idea, but Nureyev has all sorts of memories of trying out a similar process, ages ago. With— well, that doesn’t matter, does it. What matters is he knows how stilted and forced the phrases will sound, how unnatural to hear one’s identity stated in a book-jacket description summary. _This is— Pete, you’ve settled on Pete, then, boy? Good on you. This is Pete. He’s a little pickpocket, and he’s going to grow up to help me save our world._

Juno’s waiting for an answer. “Ah. No, thank you. I’d prefer if we could try it out naturally. And, Juno?”

“Yeah, babe?”

“I’m sorry. For— for making such a big deal out of this. For worrying you, and having a… moment. I should have been able to—”

“Oh, Nureyev, come on, you don’t have to apologize. Hey, it’s okay. You don’t gotta be sorry.” Juno runs his fingers through their hair. “What, you’re thinking that just ‘cuz I make gender look fun and easy, it’s gotta be that way for everyone?”

“I suppose I was thinking something to that effect, yes.” He doesn’t meet Juno’s eyes. "Especially since it was such a small thing that set me off. She wasn't even talking about me, not technically."

“S’not like that, Nureyev, not at all. I get it— you shoulda seen me in my twenties, hell, seen me at sixteen the first time Ben called me his sister as a joke. S'just like that sometimes, you know?"

Nureyev nods, the words swirling in his head. They lean back against Juno, letting him bear their weight. 

"And I think everyone on the ship gets it, too. And if you’re worried about being wrong, hey, it’s not like getting a tattoo, or, hah, losing an eye.” He’s doing the monologuing thing again, Nureyev notes amusedly, talking faster and faster, hardly stopping for air. “And— okay, last _and_ , I promise! Last one. Look at me. If I expected everyone to be square on the shit I broke my back to figure out, don’t you think that’d be kinda hypocritical?” He indicates his sweater. “I mean, I still don’t have a consistent laundry schedule!”

“Point taken,” Nureyev murmurs.

Juno’s laugh really is beautiful, filling the room like bells. “You weren’t supposed to agree with that one!” 

Nureyev looks back at his dear detective, tension leaving their body at an almost dizzying rate, and decides that _the very near future_ is now.

-

"So," says Captain Buddy Aurinko, all business, when Jet returns from clearing the table from family breakfast. Several days have passed, and the conversation with Juno has all but left Nureyev's mind. "We'll be landing on 511 Davida to refuel and stretch our legs in several hours, darlings, and I _don't_ want a repeat of what happened last time we docked for supplies, you understand?" For once Nureyev wasn't at the heart of the trouble— he'd been confined to bedrest for his leg still— and they watch, amused, as Juno and Rita trade sheepish looks. 

"Sorry, Captain Aurinko," Rita apologizes, looking a little bit distraught.

"Yeah, sorry." Juno sounds far less sincere, rolling his eye. 

"All is forgiven, Rita," she says, winking at her (or perhaps just blinking). Juno makes an indignant noise, but Buddy cuts him off.

"That said," she continues, "I think it would be a good idea to settle on a game plan, of sorts. A schedule. So I can have at least some idea of, if not what sort of trouble you're up to, at least _where_ you're up to it." 

She unrolls a map of the largest city. It's heavily detailed, clearly drawn-up by a local, different neighborhoods and districts indicated and described in a key. "I'm sure you've all done your own research on what-all there is to do planetside, no?" 

Nureyev's certainly done so, has researched several luxury stores that he'd appreciate window shopping at, has got tentative plans for a lunch date with Juno. He goes to say so, but Juno cuts him off.

"If Ransom isn't needed back on the ship, I'd like to go with them," he says in a rush. "I think. I mean, I know Davida's supposed to have a great fashion district, and they've been dreaming about picking up some new clothes. So, um." He shrugs. "Yeah." 

Ah. Just when they'd let their guard down, had let the idea slip from their head entirely. Their eyes widen, and Juno shoots him a little _how'd-I-do?_ smile. But Nureyev can hardly find it in himself to reply. 

_I'd like to go with them._ Yes, that was more than all right. They laugh under their breath, a little nervously, a little wildly. _That's me._

"Yes, Ransom," Buddy's voice cuts through his thoughts, "for better or for worse, we all know very well who you are." 

Ah. Had he said that aloud? Everyone's gone quiet, now staring at him. Processing, maybe, or— or judging, though he hopes not. 

Vespa's the first one to speak up, breaks the awkward silence. "Steel," she growls, "just warning you, if the two of you try and sneak in after curfew, I'll tell the security system you're an impostor and to fry you 'til you look like one of Rita's snacks."

Well. Nureyev grins despite the threat. That certainly hadn't been the objection they'd been expecting. 

Juno raises both his arms, on the defensive. "Hey, hey!" He leans back in his chair. "The hell are you talking about?"

"Just that you always seem to get up to some obnoxious bullshit when you're with _them,_ " she snaps back at him. 

"Vespa, darling," Buddy interjects. "Play nice, please." The uncovered half of her mouth turns up in a grin. "Ransom isn't to blame— Juno got up to plenty of, what was it, 'obnoxious bullshit' without them there." 

It's… well. It's a rush, in a way that makes Nureyev feel awfully foolish but no less _right_. Sort of like the thrill of giving a new alias's name for the first time. The difference is, he thinks, Buddy saw right through Peter Ransom. Duke Rose was caught rose-handed thanks to Juno's ubiquity. This time, there's no lie to be maintained, no front to be put on. It's just them, for once. 

The conversation has moved on. Rita wants to try a Davidian delicacy with Jet. Vespa's heard that the library in town center has a few books she'd like to look at. Juno's tasked with finding hair dye, salmon snacks, and other necessities. Nureyev sits there, nothing to say for once. 

"Excellent," Buddy concludes when everyone's said their piece. "Any questions?"

"Ooh! Ooh!" Rita waves her arm around, plastic costume jewelry and beaded bracelets clanking. "Me, Ms. Buddy, I have a question!"

"Yes, Rita," Buddy sighs, sounding amused and exhausted, the Rita emotion. 

Nureyev's ready for something about snacks, or a theme park planetside, or the like. Instead, Rita turns to them. 

"Crewmate Ransom-Glass-Shah-whatever! D'you want I should stop calling you Mistah Ransom? Or Juno's boyfriend? Cuz I ain't got the best memory, but I'll, I'll, I'll, give it my best shot if you want!" She beams. 

Well. Unexpected, but not entirely unwelcome. Juno might be the ship's detective, but one could always count on Rita to expose the elephant in the room. "It's quite alright, Rita, terms like that are perfectly acceptable. Thank you for asking."

"Just acceptable?" She raises her eyebrows, or tries to; she's never quite gotten the hang of the gesture, so she just scrunches up her nose and crosses her eyes a little bit. "It don't gotta just be acceptable, Ransom, I mean, lookit me and Juno! You don't gotta _settle_."

They're… touched. They knew Rita'd been briefly infatuated with Rex Glass, and that she'd forgiven him for the eye incident, but this level of genuine care from anyone (well, other than Juno) was. New. New and not unwelcome. 

Looking around the table, he notices most everyone is nodding along to Rita's words. "Well," he says, just a little choked up. "I. I appreciate it, I really do. And perhaps… sometime, when we are less busy, it is something I'll think about. For now, though, the way you've been addressing me is perfectly all right. I am, as it stands, still, ah— still a man." He sighs, feeling oppressively _known_. "I'm sorry. I hadn't meant for it to become a, a conversation. We're on a schedule—"

"Ransom." Buddy meets his eyes, and he tries his best not to look down. "I know as well as anyone that there's a difference between _knowing_ something, and _believing_ it, and applying it to oneself. But look at your family, darling." A hint of a laugh in her voice, but still so clearly genuine. "Do you think any of _us_ would consider a conversation like this inferior to a little extra time on some tourist-trap asteroid?"

"I suppose not," Nureyev concurs. "Still. Thank you." 

It's an incredible weight off his chest, and what Buddy had said about the difference between knowing something logically and applying it to oneself rings true. The rest of the crew clears out save for them and Juno, and they don't realize how much the morning's events have taken out of them until they stand up and immediately need to lean on the table for support.

Juno catches him. He always does.

"You all right?" he asks, and Nureyev nods. Truthfully, he thinks. 

"All right. Just a little— well, I haven't been through an ordeal like that since I was twelve." 

"Oh," Juno murmurs. "Bad memories?"

They shake their head. "Just a little bit overwhelming. I'm all right, really."

"Gender, huh?" Juno rolls his eye, kisses Nureyev's forehead quickly. "S'a lot, isn't it. What d'you say we get ready to head down, get some fresh air. Find you some more junk for your room, some sandwiches, maybe, a park to sit in and eat the sandwiches and talk." He catches Nureyev's expression. "I mean, just chat! Make fun of the people there, you know, or something. I won't make you talk about anything you're not ready for, not ever. Sound good?"

Nureyev grins. How'd they get so lucky, they wonder, the old thought back again. He circles his arms around Juno's shoulders. "Sounds wonderful."

**Author's Note:**

> this work was not directly based on by but certainly not UNinspired by jay onetiredboy's gender fic series. go give it a read, guys, it's really good. 
> 
> title from doctor worm by they might be giants, the quintessential transgender song by two 60 year old cishet men. 
> 
> did you like it? drop a comment! leave a kudos! go ahead, make my day. also check out the rest of my work, which is almost unilaterally gentle, transgender, and hopefully funny


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